Heart on a Sleeve
It is both a blessing
And a curse
To feel everything
So very deeply.
— David Jones
i.
If I met my seven year old self today, What would I tell her,
What would I say to her? Would I warn her of the future,
Of the bad things yet to come?
Or would I leave her be naive,
To keep having fun?
Because my seven year old self, Believed the world a perfect place, Would she recognize herself, When she looked into my face? Even though I’ve learnt so much more, And ten years have passed since then, I would give up everything I have, To view life through her eyes again.— e.h
Warm rays of sunlight flooded our bedroom as Dad parted the curtains. I squinted at the light that rudely interrupted my sleep before snuggling closer to Mom as Dad trailed his way back and slipped under the cozy blanket.
Five minutes passed. Or fifteen. Or, just maybe, thirty.
I squiggled away from Mom and closer to Dad, nuzzling my head into the nook between his neck and shoulders. Then I drifted off into my world of dreams once again.
A long pause.
We were mostly awake then. I opened my eyes to my parents lazily smiling at me while Wansuk continued to sleep peacefully. I grinned back as Mom shifted and pulled me into another hug. That woke Wansuk up. He stared at us with his mouth hung opened and his eyebrows knot. It was a funny face. My parents laughed. I laughed.
Our family never needed much to be happy. Time together meant lots of love and smiles and laughs. Dad used to say, “Find joy in the simple things; it’s what makes life worth living.” I hope I never forget that.
A moment later, we were all cuddled up, ready to drift off into sleep yet again. “Let’s just have you guys skip school today.”
And, if I may say, that was the absolute best, most joy-giving part.
ii.
If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
— Émile Zola
The kiddies table was never a place for me.
Wansuk would pout and cry if his different dishes were touching, and Tawan would rather whine to death if he had to eat anything other than omelettes. I had no use for any of that. So, instead, I invited myself to the adults table.
Tonight was just the same. I sat between Mom and Dad and across from my aunt and uncle with my feet dangling off the bench and my chin barely rising above the table. We were talking politics.
I was neither a shy kid nor was I ignorant about current events — thanks to the morning news I watched every day at breakfast. So I, the wee, little kid, chimed right into the conversation. I chatted and commented a little, and I jabbered and argued some more. And, somehow, they all let me do that at will.
Perhaps that was a little obnoxious. I had hardly turned eight and certainly did not belong at the adults table quite yet. Still, they didn’t care that I was young. They didn’t care that, at times, I got facts completely mixed up. Instead, they listened to me and let me voice my opinions. They patiently explained things to me and laughed with me when I made silly mistakes. They allowed me to express myself just as I was, and they treated me like an equal — worthy of being heard and seen.
They let me know that I deserve to be bold and confident. And I’ll carry that with me till the day I die.
After a while, I got bored. Wansuk and Tawan had finally finished eating, so it was perfect timing. I strutted over to them and wore my widest grin.
“Let’s go play some hide-and-seek! I’ll be the seeker. You two go hide.”
I closed my eyes and began to count down as they ran off squealing and giggling.
Maybe I’ll go back to the adults after a few rounds of this.
Honestly, it was a good, good life.
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